Companion to Judge John Deed series 4
by Kristine Thorne
Summary: This is just a handful of scenes, that various episodes of series 4 of Judge John Deed inspired me to write.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the BBC. 

A/N: The scenes contained under this title, are in no way related to each other. They are simply what various episodes of series 4 of Judge John Deed inspired me to write. This is my proposed interlude between episodes 2 and 3 of series 4 of Judge John Deed. 

A couple of days after the end of the trial that had almost been forced to continue without a jury, John was sitting in his chambers, long after Coope had gone home. Under the guise of going through the papers for an upcoming trial, he was sitting at his desk, staring into space. Had Jo been right? Had his unwillingness to go back on a principle caused a young prostitute to die? He didn't know. He didn't want to believe that Jo was right and she'd said that things were often said in the heat of the moment that weren't really true, but she hadn't been entirely sincere when she'd said that. She'd meant to blame him, and now all he could do was blame himself. What he really needed was a pair of arms, a soft, female body to lose himself in, but there didn't appear to be one readily available, and he didn't have the energy to go out and look for one. 

When the knock came on the door of his chambers, he looked up surprised. Who on earth could be visiting him here in the early evening? "Come in," He called, fervently hoping that it wasn't Ian Rochester. "I thought I might find you here," George said coming into the room. "This is a surprise," John said, getting to his feet and walking over to her. "Well, you weren't at the digs," She said, kissing his cheek. "So I thought I'd try here." The brief smile he'd shown on seeing her hadn't quite reached his eyes. "Where's lover boy this evening?" John asked, moving to sit back down behind his desk, which George immediately saw as a sign that he was trying to maintain his emotional equilibrium. "He's in London, and as you backed out on me last week, I thought I would take advantage of my free evening." When he didn't answer, she could tell that something was badly wrong. "John, are you all right?" She asked, moving a little closer to him. "I am trying to come to terms with the fact that I am highly culpable in the death of a witness," He snapped at her. "All because I refused to abandon my principle of conducting a thoroughly open and honest trial. So no, George, I am not all right." Walking over to stand beside him, she turned his face towards her. "You didn't kill her, John," She said quietly but firmly. "So you are not responsible for her death. Yes, you made a decision which you now regret, but that doesn't mean that you are to blame." "Jo thinks I am," He said, removing her hand from his cheek and holding it in his. "And that means you should automatically agree with her, does it?" "I just feel...Oh, I don't know," He said with a shrug. She could see that he wanted her closer to him, but that he didn't know how to ask. "This must be bad," She said with a slight smile. "Because in spite of the position you are currently in, you haven't once looked at my cleavage." "I can do, if it would make you feel better," He said silkily. She could feel his words creeping over her skin in the way they always had when he'd been trying to pull her, heightening every one of her senses. He saw her eyes widen when he said this, and wondered if she might be up for making his evening far more pleasurable than he'd thought it would be. She made no protest when he rose to his feet and put his arms round her, because she knew she needed his comfort just as much as he needed hers. It seemed far too long since she'd had his arms round her, not in fact since that truly horrific day when they'd thought Charlie was dead. "Is lover boy really away this evening?" He asked into her hair. "John," She said, moving her face back slightly to look at him. "I don't want to talk about Neil." "Good," He said softly, gradually moving his face closer to hers. 

When their lips eventually met, it almost knocked the breath out of both of them. They hadn't been so close for so many years, but they could both remember just how good it had once been. Their tastes were so familiar, so understood, that it felt as though they were coming home. All the fights, all the tears, none of it mattered in that initial moment of recapture. He pressed her to him as her arms wound round his neck, feeling every contour of her body aligning itself with his. As one they moved over to the sofa, lips refusing to let go. When he pulled her down beside him, he moved a hand to the cleavage she had accused him of ignoring. George gasped as his hand connected with her flesh, feeling every movement, even through her clothing. She could feel her internal muscles twitch as his thumb grazed over her nipple, making her wonder just where all her self-control had gone. But when his hand moved to the buttons of her blouse, she detached her lips from his, and stopped his hand in its tracks. "What?" he gently asked, surprised at her preventing him from taking this further. "Tell me why you want this?" "You are incredibly beautiful, and we both appear to feel like it," He said succinctly. "What other reason is there?" "That's not all," She told him, not willing to let him get away with it. "Start talking to me," She continued. "And I might just agree to it, because I want this as much as you do." Seeing that he would have to do this if he wanted to really make love to her, John tried to phrase how he was really feeling. "I feel quite, miserable," He said, hesitating over the word and refusing to meet her gaze. "I know," She said softly. "And shall I understand miserable to mean both lonely and depressed?" "Don't even think of doing this out of pity, George," He said strongly, which made her laugh. "John, I've never done anything out of pity in my life," She said with a broad smile. "And I'm not about to start now." "Is it such a crime, to want to feel good about something?" He asked, feeling utterly transparent to her. "No, of course it's not," She said, leaning over to kiss him. "See," She said, leading his hand back to the buttons of her blouse. "It wasn't that difficult, now was it." Refusing to agree with her, John resumed where he'd left off. 

They made fast work of each other's clothes, their hands reacquainting themselves with the familiar textures of each other's skin. "Why did I ever let you go?" He asked, his scattered clothes joining hers on the floor. "Sh," She said as they lay on the sofa. "Don't go into all that now." He softly stroked her small but perfect breasts, teasing at her hardening nipples. "So," He said, his voice becoming deeper with arousal. "Aren't you going to tell me why you want this?" "Perhaps I need to feel good about something too," She said, her enormous blue eyes telling him that this was the absolute truth. Deciding to leave the many questions he had until later, he trailed his hand down over the extremely narrow waist, and lightly rested it on her thigh. "There aren't still cameras in here are there?" She asked, the thought suddenly occurring to her. "There is one," He told her, mapping gentle circles on her thigh. "But I covered it up as soon as I came back." "Well, how positively devious of you," She said with a smirk, parting her legs slightly to allow him access. He could remember precisely how she liked it, as if their last time had only been yesterday. "I can remember every delicious thing I used to do to you," He murmured, delicately inching two fingers inside her, feeling the intense heat of her arousal. "You're not the only one," She said very unsteadily. Briefly withdrawing his hand from her, he ran a finger across his lips, savouring every bit of her residue. "Have you missed me that much?" George said with a laugh, not remotely abashed by him doing this. Returning his hand to her warmth, he began manipulating her in earnest, his hand effortlessly reminding her of just what she didn't have with Neil. Yes, she slept with him, but she didn't enjoy it, not any more if she ever had. When he kissed her, she could taste herself on his lips and it excited her. Dropping her hand to his fairly considerable erection, she smirked. Only in bed had she ever really been able to make him lose the control he so cherished. Gently removing her hand from him, he made it clear that he wanted her to reach orgasm before he took her. "Please, John," She all but begged. "I need you inside me." He saw a look of such pleading in her eyes, an expression of such desperate desire, that he capitulated. Settling between her legs, he entered her very slowly, both of them committing every inch to memory, for fear it would never happen again. She clung to him as he moved within her, wishing she could die now so as to make her last moment a happy one. John couldn't believe he was really doing this after all these years. He'd made so many predictable attempts to pull her, and not one of them had ever paid off. Yet here she was, writhing under him in complete ecstasy, after having definitely been the one to initiate it. He reached between them to continue stimulating her clitoris, knowing that George always had preferred it when she could have both at once. John had needed this, had needed a way of releasing all the pent up emotions of the last few weeks. Jo wasn't letting him even hug her. She'd even pushed him away when he'd kissed her the other night, though that had only been meant to comfort her. He squeezed George to him with his free arm, needing to feel as close as possible to her for the brief time they might have. He half laughed, half cried out when she internally squeezed him, speeding up his thrusts until they simultaneously came, George letting out a cry of her own. 

As they lay afterwards, their breathing gradually returning to normal, he could see that she had tears in her eyes, but that she was desperately trying not to let them fall. "I think I'd forgotten just how good it could be," She said, wondering just why Neil could never have made her feel like this. "Is lover boy not living up to the accolade?" "He never has," She said scathingly. "Ah, yes, I do vaguely remember you once saying that you would have had more fun with a church minister." "Well, there you are then." "George, why are you still with him?" Immediately, her whole body stiffened. "I don't want to talk about him!" She said almost desperately, knowing that if he probed any further, she would be in serious danger of telling him everything, not something she wanted to do today, if ever. "Okay," He said persuasively, running a gentle hand up and down her arm. They lay quiet for a while, both of them soaking up the feeling of being in the other's arms. They had once had times like this, when they'd lain docile and content, happy just to be together. George looked exhausted, the relaxation that only an orgasm can provide, making her feel as though she could simply drift on time until she was called back to the land of the living. John was happy to hold her, watch her as her eyes flickered closed, and listen to her soft, slow breathing. The room was warm, the sofa comfortable, and John had no reason to disturb her brief moment of peace. 

But when he heard the approaching firm, female footsteps that he would recognise anywhere, he inwardly groaned, praying that she would simply knock and assume that he wasn't there, but Jo didn't. She did knock, but opened the door without waiting for a reply, coming into the room with a fond greeting on her lips, to find John and George, lying naked in each other's arms. It was all too obvious what they'd been doing, George's slightly tousled hair, and John's softened manhood relaxing against her thigh, all the evidence Jo needed. John looked up at her, every possible apology dying on his lips, because he knew that none of them could ever suffice. Gently shaking George's shoulder, John wondered how on earth he was going to wriggle out of this one. When George opened her eyes, she looked drowsy, content, and softer than Jo had ever seen her. "It seems we have company," John told her. Swiveling her gaze in Jo's direction, George looked stunned when she saw her. "Oh," Was all she seemed able to say. Before either she or John could think of anything else to try and explain their highly compromising position, Jo had turned on her heel and strode out of the door, slamming it so hard that everything in the room seemed to rattle. Neither George nor John said a single word as they hurriedly pulled their clothes on, both of them knowing that no matter how much they'd wanted this, it should never have happened, and that Jo would probably never forgive John for doing the one thing she'd been accusing him of all these years. 

When John reached the outside, Jo was striding purposefully towards her car. "Jo," He called, running after her. When she turned, he could see all the hurt, all the anger framed clearly in her face. "My god," She said sarcastically. "You do dress quickly these days. It must be all those beds you have to leap out of at a moment's notice." "Jo, listen," He said, trying to curb her flow of insults. "Go on," She encouraged scornfully. "This I can't wait to hear." Neither of them took any notice of George's appearance. "I'm sorry," Was all John could find to say. When Jo's hand connected resoundingly with his cheek, George gasped. Without further ado, Jo walked the rest of the way to her car, a slightly stunned John following her. "Why do you always do this, John?" She said, when she realised that he wasn't going to let her go so easily. "Why can't you ever manage to keep your word for longer than five minutes?" "Jo," He protested as she got into her car. "Please let me explain." "What is there to explain?" She demanded through the open window. Then, when he opened his mouth to tell her, she said, "No way, John, not this time, not any more. You want comfort, get it somewhere else." Then, revving the engine, she roared away, leaving John staring after her with a look of sheer pain on his face. He'd never wanted to hurt Jo. He knew he'd slept with George, purely and simply because he was lonely and she'd been there. Turning about to walk to his own car, he saw that George was standing beside hers, clearly waiting for him. When he reached her, they just stood and looked at each other. "I'm sorry," She said eventually, with no anger, no malice, with none of the old George's pleasure that he might have expected after such an event. "Are you?" He demanded belligerently. "In the old days, you'd have been delighted." "Well, I'm not now," She insisted, his cruel tone hurting her more than she liked to admit. "Why, George? Isn't this what you've always wanted?" "Don't take your problems with Jo out on me," She hissed at him. "Yes, it is partly my fault that Jo discovered us in the manner she did, but it is not my fault that she clearly expects you to live like a monk until she's ready for you." Turning her back on him, she got into her car and drove away, leaving him feeling even more regret than he had done at the beginning of the evening. 

The next morning, George caught up with Jo just before she went into court. She was in the foyer, clearly talking to her client when George approached her. "I think we need to talk," George said quietly, walking up beside her. "I've got nothing to say to you, George," Jo said bitterly, incensed that George was approaching her like this. "Well, there are several things that I need to say, and that you are going, to hear," George said firmly. "So, shall we do this in the hearing of your client, or shall we go somewhere else?" Seeing that she wasn't going to get her way on this without a public scene, Jo excused herself from her client and followed George outside. When they were out of earshot of anyone else, Jo got in first. "Come to gloat have you?" "Don't be ridiculous," George said angrily. "I can assure you that I have better things to do, than rub even more salt into the wound." "So what are you here for?" Jo demanded. "To tell you why it happened, and to try to knock the merest ounce of sense into you." "As to why he slept with you, George, I'd have thought that was obvious," Jo said scornfully. "You were offering it to him on a plate, and John will never say no to anything vaguely attractive in a skirt." "No, you stupid woman," George said vehemently, forcefully holding back the urge to shake some sense into Jo. "That wasn't it, or at least not most of it. Can't you see how depressed he is at the moment? Can't you see that all he wants is a little bit of recognition from you?" "And by recognition, you mean sex," Jo clarified. "No, I don't," George protested. "I am just as familiar with John's fickle attitude to women as you are, don't forget. Jo," She continued, trying to sound more conciliatory. "Your absolute devotion to the cause of adopting Michael Hulsey, is making you virtually blind to John's existence. You can't see how much he needs you, because at the moment you neither have the room nor the inclination to see it." "Oh, and we all know that being committed to the raising of a child, isn't something you put much time and effort into, don't we," Jo said scathingly, hating the fact that George was right. She watched as George's eyes slightly flickered, just for a second betraying the true pain this throwaway comment had caused. "Don't bring my shortcomings into this," George replied quietly. "All I'm asking you to do, is to see what's right in front of you, that's all." She sounded almost defeated, and Jo could tell how much she'd hurt her. But when she turned to go back inside, George remembered something else she'd wanted to say. "I haven't finished," She said, her voice having regained some of its former stridency. 

"I think I've heard quite enough," Jo said over her shoulder. Grabbing Jo's arm, George, with far more strength than Jo would have expected in her, whirled Jo round to face her. "Just a little warning," George said icily. "If I ever, see you raise a hand to him again, I shall personally hound you out of a job. Is that clear?" Jo stared at her in disbelief. "Believe me, Jo, if you'd ever had anyone do the same to you, it would be the last thing you would ever think of doing to John, no matter what the circumstances." Leaving Jo in mid gape, George strode across the car park to her car, hoping that Jo might at least have listened to some of the things she'd said. Whether or not she would act on any of it, was anyone's guess. 


	2. Part Two

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the BBC. 

A/N: This is just a missing scene that could so easily have been included in episode 3. 

After leaving Rachel Crawchek, John was at a loss where to go. He couldn't go back to the digs, to sit alone in his empty flat, because he knew he would go mad if he did. He knew he shouldn't have slept with Vivian Hurst, but why did that have to mean that nobody would talk to him, not JO, not Rachel, so who else was there? He felt so cut adrift, so unsettled by Jo's threatening to leave him for good, that he knew he wasn't being entirely rational. It was late, and he gripped the wheel in a moment of blind fury, to realise that Jo would probably be tucked up with Michael's father by now. How could she? After everything she'd said to him, how could she go and sleep with someone else? Besides, now that she knew about his sleeping with Vivian Hurst, she wouldn't talk to him anyway. When the only remaining possibility finally occurred to him, he almost laughed. Him seek George's counsel and advice? It was almost unthinkable. Well, it would have been, but she'd altogether softened up recently. Yes, she would no doubt castigate him for sleeping with a claimant, but she might listen to him. Praying that Haughton wasn't at home, John drove the old familiar route to George's house. 

It was after ten in the evening, and George was lying in the bath when the doorbell rang, and thinking that it might be Neil, having come home unexpectedly, she regretfully dragged herself out of the warm, scented water. She'd thought he would be away tonight, and as she caught sight of the couple of bruises on her lower ribs in the mirror, she prayed that he would at least be too tired to do more than sleep. Wrapping herself in a large, fluffy towel, she went downstairs to let him in. When she opened the door, she was greeted to the sight of John looking far more depressed than she'd seen him for years. "Do you always open your front door dressed like that?" He asked her with a lopsided smile. "Well, if you will insist on calling round when I'm in the bath, what do you expect," She replied, holding the door open to let him in. "Is lover boy at home?" John asked, though assuming he wasn't. "No, thank god, he's staying in London tonight. Just let me go and put some clothes on, and then you can tell me why you're here, looking like the foundations have just dropped out of your entire world." "Don't bother on my account," He said flirtatiously, using this tone of voice to mask his reaction to how accurate her assessment had been. He put out a hand to touch her bare shoulder, but she moved away from him. "Sorry, John, but no," She said, moving back towards the stairs, thinking of the bruises that were marring her once beautiful skin. "If you want to make yourself useful," She said, going up the stairs. "There's some wine in the fridge." Seeing that he wasn't going to get any further just yet, John followed her instructions and poured them both a glass of wine, going into the lounge and sitting at one end of the sofa. 

When she reappeared, he could see that she'd compromised. Foregoing a full covering of clothes, she'd settled on a nightie and dressing-gown, making it clear that she had been thinking of doing nothing more exciting than going to bed. "You look tired," He said, as she sat down at the other end of the sofa from him and reached for her glass of wine. "Yes, I am, but you didn't come hear to talk about my need for sleep. What's happened?" "I've done something incredibly stupid, even by my reckless standards," He began, unconsciously adopting the description Rachel had accorded him. "And whilst I know that you'll only add to all the recriminations I've already had, I thought you might actually listen to me." "John, you might irritate me to distraction sometimes, but that doesn't mean I can't see how extremely unhappy you are." He was incredibly touched by this, because she could so easily have sent him away with a flea in his ear. "The claimant in the case you've just finished defending, I slept with her." "Why am I not surprised?" George said resignedly, having wondered if it was something like this. "Was it after you'd ruled against her, or before?" "Before," He told her, knowing exactly what her response would be. "Oh, John!" George groaned in dismay. "They could have you removed for this, or at the very least transferred somewhere else." "I know, I know," He said bitterly. "Nobody would have known, but Vera, extremely weird tastes Everard, saw her leaving the digs, and grassed me up to Ian Rochester." "Vicious bitch!" George said in outrage, making John smile. "Yes, I thought something similar myself." "John, why did you do it?" George asked seriously, seeing that there was far more to this than a random impulse to sleep with someone. John began to look very uncomfortable. "I think, Jo is in love, with Michael Hulsey's father," John said slowly. "That was quick," George said dryly. "When did he turn up?" "About a week ago. I'm certain she's slept with him. She's had a look in her eye, that I haven't seen for many a year, probably not since I first met her." "This isn't just a simple case of jealousy," George said matter-of-factly. "And what gives you the evidence for such an assertion?" "Because I know you far better than Jo does," George said mildly. "Jealousy makes you angry and reckless, it doesn't make you depressed, not like this anyway." "Michael's father, has asked her to go back to South Africa with him, and Jo is seriously considering it. I can't lose her, George, she means everything to me. My life would hold very little importance to me if I didn't at least have Jo somewhere nearby." There was a slight break in his voice, and as she watched, George could see the tears shining in his eyes. Putting out a hand, George took one of his, holding it gently, and running her forefinger over the knuckles. "Is that why you slept with Vivian Hurst?" She asked quietly. "Just for one night, I wanted to feel good about myself," He said vehemently, trying to justify his actions. "I know it was stupid, I know I shouldn't have done it, but I think I just wanted, something I could feel secure about." Moving closer to him, she put her arms round him, feeling the sheer tension in his shoulders. He was desperately trying not to give in completely to his feelings, but it was becoming a losing battle. She tenderly rubbed his shoulders, trying to persuade him to let go entirely. "John, your ability to make a woman writhe in ecstasy, isn't the only thing you need to feel good about," She said, feeling the slight tremble in his body as he strove to gain control of his feelings. "Every time you're in court, you ensure that so many people have access to justice. I might regularly disagree with the rulings you give, but the decisions you make are always for the most transparent of reasons." "But what does any of that really matter?" He asked bitterly, trying to ignore the fact that the tears were now running steadily down his cheeks, and onto the shoulder of her dressing-gown. "Because if you ever abandoned so much as one principle," George said fondly. "You would no longer be the John Deed I know and love. You have a drive for justice that I will never find. Not long after I started seeing Neil, you asked me why I'd taken up the law. You said that the desire for justice, is one of the finest of human aspirations. You meant every word you said to me that night, and I've never forgotten it." He held her close for a time, just taking comfort from her warmth, thinking about what she'd said. He could vaguely remember the occasion she'd spoken of, as it had been the night just before the end of the Tracy Spink trial. It was only a matter of a couple of years, but that seemed so long ago. 

"I'm sorry," He said, eventually raising his face from her shoulder and digging in his pocket for a handkerchief. "You've no need to be," She said, thinking of the numerous occasions that he'd done the same for her. "I feel so, frightened that I won't ever see her again." "John, why is Jo so determined to keep the boy?" George asked, wanting to satisfy her curiosity on this point. John looked extremely pensive. "I think I know why," He said carefully. "But I know for certain that she wouldn't want you to know." "And why does she have to know that you've told me?" Taking a swig of his wine, John thought for a moment. "If I do tell you," He said eventually. "You mustn't, under any circumstances use it against her." "I won't," George assured him, knowing that on past form, he was absolutely justified in making this request. "I mean it, George, because if she isn't speaking to me now, she certainly wouldn't ever do so again if she thought you knew about this." "I won't, I promise," Said George, now thoroughly intrigued. "Not long after you and me split up, Jo found out that she was pregnant. At the time, she had not only two very young children of her own, but a terminally ill husband to look after. I'd moved out with Charlie, and was getting used to looking after her pretty much single-handed. Jo decided to have a termination, and I probably didn't try hard enough to stop her, if I even tried at all. Quite understandably, Jo has never entirely recovered from doing that, and I think she subconsciously sees the raising of Michael Hulsey, as her way of trying to put that right." George was quiet for a while, taking in all that John had said. It made sense on so many levels, made so many pieces finally fit together. "That does answer quite a few significant questions," She said eventually. "The first being why Jo has so strongly resented the fact that I was the one to have your child, and not her. It's just one of the things that Jo has always and probably will always hold against me, and now I know why. During Diana Hulsey's pretrial hearing, Jo wanted to know how I could marry you, bear your child, and still know so little about you. It's funny, because that's one of the things I've always been highly aware of, the fact that Jo managed to single-handedly raise two children, and I couldn't even partly raise one. Ever since I've been aware of Jo's existence, it's been forcefully hammered into me, that Jo has been, or at least certainly could have been, everything I wasn't, and now I've got so much more evidence to support that." John listened to every word, not having heard most of this before. He'd never known that the feud between Jo and George ran quite so deep. "I had no idea that you felt like that," He said softly, feeling a certain amount of regret for the pain she must have gone through on this point. "There was no reason why you would," She said matter-of-factly. Then, after another moment's thought, she said, "That was why you were so adamant about Charlie not doing the same, wasn't it." "Yes." "John, you can stop her leaving," George told him gently. "You just need to tell her what you've told me. No one has ever got under your skin quite like Jo, and even though she's angry with you, she will be aware of that." "Apart from you," John said, fixing his eyes on her. "No," George said philosophically. "You would never have persevered with me if I'd held out this long, you know you wouldn't. As for your attempt at judicial suicide, I'll talk to daddy, see what he can do." "I don't want you to do that, George," John said firmly, having always loathed those who relied on the manipulation of the system. "John," George replied, feeling the distinct urge to shake some sense into him. "If there was ever a time when you needed someone to pull a few strings for you, believe me it's now. I am not going to let Neil's cronies get the better of you, just because Legover's wife doesn't know the meaning of the word discretion." "And no doubt Lover boy will be delighted with your course of action," John said dryly. "Do you really think I'm stupid enough, to let him think I had anything to do with it?" She said bitterly. "Why do you stay with him, George?" He asked yet again, not having found a satisfactory reason to date. "Because just at the moment, it's the quickest way to a quiet life," She said resignedly, though knowing this wasn't really true. "What aren't you telling me?" John asked, his penetrating gaze seeming to creep through the contents of her mind. George flinched under his watchful stare, knowing that tonight really wasn't the night for telling him this. "Nothing," She said, struggling to meet his eyes. "Are you scared of him?" John asked suspiciously, seeing that she was doing her damnedest to hide something enormous from him. "John, please just drop it," George pleaded quietly. "I don't want to talk about Neil, or anything to do with him." But as John left a while later, driving home to his empty bed, and leaving George in hers, he had the distinct feeling that he should have insisted she return with him. 


	3. Part three

Disclaimer: All characters belong to the BBC. 

A/N: This is a direct continuation of Judge John Deed series 4 episode 5. 

On the drive home, George almost shook with the prospect of what she was about to do. Neil had told her that losing just wasn't an option in this case, and that's precisely what she had done. Ten million pounds, or thereabouts, was what Cardinal PLC would have to stump up. It certainly hadn't helped matters that it had been her own daughter who had found the final piece of the jigsaw. If Charlie hadn't stumbled on that all too telling piece of evidence, she would have won. Why did it always have to be her who had to break such news to Neil, why, just for once, couldn't somebody else bear the brunt of his anger? When she drew up in front of her house, she briefly considered just throwing a few things into a case and driving away, anywhere that Neil wouldn't be able to find her. But while this would at least be a temporary guarantee of her safety, it would only buy her time. Eventually, she would be forced to return, and his wrath would b all the greater, the longer she allowed it to burn. 

She paced endlessly around her house as she waited for him to come home, totally unable to settle to doing anything. She contemplated pouring herself a very large drink, but decided against it on the grounds that she would need all her mental faculties in tact for the coming conversation. She would have done anything for a cigarette, but he'd even made her give those up in the beginning. Why hadn't she seen all this coming? Why had she been so determined to rub John's nose in it by becoming engaged to Neil? She would never marry him, she knew that now, but why had she ever given him the power by telling him she might. 

When she heard his car pull into the drive, she tried to bury the urge to run, to fly anywhere away from him. The sound of his key in the door was one of those sounds that forever more, would strike fear into her every bone. "George," He called, and she could hear the tension in his voice, the desperate desire to know that she had won. "In here," She replied from the lounge, mentally taking hold of every defence she could muster. When he appeared, he didn't spare any time for niceties. "Well, what happened?" He demanded curtly, obviously seeing something in her face that he didn't like. "We lost," She said without looking at him. "You are joking?" He said in utter disbelief. "Do I look like I'm joking?" She responded acidly, instantly regretting it by the look of fury on his face. "Cardinal were stung to the tune of ten million. So yes, I'm sorry, I failed," She added bitterly. "This is becoming a bit of a habit, isn't it," He said, moving towards her. "What did you get your QC for, George? Because at the moment, it really doesn't look like you're earning it. Any one of your juniors could have made a better job of it than you did. Is this how it's going to be, every time the government needs something swept under the carpet? I assured them that you could deliver. Do you know how this makes me look? Do you even care?" George simply sat there watching him. The insults were nothing new, the jibes about her worth as a barrister even less so. She tried to let them bounce off her, but somehow, they always managed to creep through her armour, making her wonder just how far someone's spirit could be battered before it broke entirely. When he leaned forward, and grabbed her jaw between finger and thumb, she knew that the rest of his punishment was on its way. "Is that all you can do?" He demanded, forcing her to look at him. "Sit there and just let what I'm saying wash over you, as if it bore no more importance than something your father might come out with after too much scotch?" This jibe wounded her, his disregard of her father's integrity always hurting her more than anything else. When the first slap came, she barely flinched, knowing that the more she reacted, the more it excited him. If she could get through this without so much as a word of protest, he would soon get bored of it. But not so this time. Her lack of response seemed to anger him further, almost as if he saw it as a sign of insolence, a sign that she couldn't care less how furious he was. Grabbing her hair in his left hand, his right crashed into her face, for a moment making her see stars. She could feel the blood from her nose run down onto her blouse, but while he still had hold of her, she could do nothing to stop it. The second time, his fist caught her just under her left eye, ensuring that she would have trouble seeing out of it in the morning. She tried to detach herself from what he was doing, but this only seemed to enrage him further. In the past, he'd always stopped at hitting her once, that one bruise being enough to return him to his senses. But this time, they just kept on coming. She tasted the blood when he split her lip, and for the moment was heartily grateful that he hadn't knocked out any of her teeth. "Haven't you got anything to say?" He demanded, when it didn't appear that his fists were getting through to her. "I'm, sorry," She gasped between her swollen lips. "I'm sorry? Is that all? You're pathetic. Why did I ever think you could be useful to me," He added, yanking her up to stand in front of him, so that he could begin taking his fury out on her torso. "I did everything I possibly could," She desperately tried to explain to him. "Well," He said, as his fist slammed into her ribs. "It just wasn't good enough, was it? Your father has such blind belief in you, doesn't he? But keep on failing so spectacularly, and he'll soon lose interest in you." "No," George said in horror, knowing that if she ever lost Daddy's approval, she really had lost everything. Neil laughed cruelly. "Oh, it'll happen, believe me. Soon all you'll have left is me, and then perhaps you might start appreciating what I can give you." The thought of having no one left but Neil terrified her so much, that she began to struggle to get away from him. But as he grabbed hold of her to prevent her retreat, she stumbled, and as she fell, she caught the vase of flowers that was on the coffee table with her arm. As it fell from the table, shattering into tiny fragments on the carpet, Neil pushed her to the floor, pinning her down with his weight on top of her. He held both her arms down to the carpet, unconsciously grinding them into the broken china. "Neil, please," She begged. "Please, I'll do anything if you just stop this now." "And what could you offer me, that I couldn't possibly get somewhere else?" He said silkily, his face right next to hers. "You're not exactly much to look at any more, are you, so it's not even as if I'd want to sleep with you." It was this last statement that finally brought the tears to her eyes. Getting up in complete disgust, now that he'd finally torn every last shred of pride from her, he kicked her savagely in the ribs, and walked out of the front door. 

George lay there for a little while, wholly unable to drag herself anywhere. As she drifted in and out of the pain, part of her wished she could simply die here, to never again feel those fists, to never again hear such violent protestations of her inadequacies. But when it became obvious that she wasn't going to die, at least not in the immediate future, the subject of her continued safety began to trouble her. What if Neil came back? She knew she wouldn't be able to suffer another onslaught. Pulling herself painfully to her feet, she noticed the numerous cuts on her arms and legs, thanks to the broken vase, whose flowers were now scattered all over the floor. It felt exceedingly uncomfortable to breathe, this telling her that she probably had a couple of cracked ribs. Grabbing some tissues from the box on the coffee table, she tried to stem the flow of blood from her nose, avoiding looking at anything resembling a mirror, for fear of the devastation she would see. Picking up her handbag, she moved stiffly into the hall, knowing that somehow, she had to get away from here, even if she did crash the car and kill herself in the process. As she banged the door behind her, and walked a little unsteadily to her car, there wasn't any doubt in her mind of where she should go. After all, there were only two options open to her, Daddy, and John. Daddy was out of the question, because she would have far too much explaining to do. Who was she kidding, she thought mirthlessly as she drove carefully away, John would no doubt turn prosecutor on her until he got some answers. But Daddy wouldn't be able to deal with this, she knew he wouldn't, whereas John would at least be able to put his anger aside long enough to be able to help her. 

When she drew up exhaustedly in front of the Judge's digs, she prayed that John was in, and alone. Oh, god, if Jo was with him, she would immediately turn tail and leave. She could only just handle John seeing her like this, but Jo was an entirely different matter altogether. As she waited for John to answer the ring of the doorbell, she shivered, realising that she'd walked out without a jacket, and that if anyone saw her, she wouldn't just have to answer John's insidious questions. When he answered, she said, "John, it's George. Have you got company?" "No," He said into the phone. "Come on up." As she pushed the door, and began walking up the stairs, she wondered how he was about to react. When John opened his front door, and saw George walking along the landing towards him, all he could do was stare in aghast silence. Her face was battered almost beyond redemption, and he could see that it was painful for her to keep her body in an upright position. "Doesn't look that good, does it," She said as she reached him, the throw away remark bringing him out of his astonished stupor. "What the hell happened?" He said, closing the door behind her, unable to take his eyes off her bruised and bleeding face. "Believe me, John, you really don't want to know," She said, her tone brittle with tension. "Did Haughton do this?" he demanded, the cold beginnings of rage sweeping over him. She opened her mouth to deny it, but she couldn't. She had never been able to lie to John, at least not when he fixed her with that penetrating gaze of his. "He wasn't particularly amused at my failure," She said bleakly. Laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, John steered her into the lounge and into a chair. "You look like you should be in hospital," He said, gazing down at her. "It's not that bad," She tried to persuade him, though not entirely sure she was right. Then, as John moved to pick up the phone, she said, "What are you doing?" "Calling the police, what does it look like?" "No, John, you mustn't," She said almost desperately. Hearing the terror in her voice, he replaced the phone in its cradle and turned back to her. "George, you can't let him get away with this," John insisted vehemently. "Oh, and what do you suggest I do, have him arrested?" She demanded scornfully. "Because we both know that isn't going to happen." "Trust me, George, if anyone so much as glimpsed your face, he'd be behind bars quicker than I can say handcuffs." "John, this is not about your incessant drive for justice," George threw back at him. "This is about me, and as much as it might go against every protective instinct you possess, I am not, going to the police about this. Is that clear?" He could hear the threat of tears in her plea, and it broke his anger immediately. George was right, at least for the present. "Come on," He said, taking her hand and leading her towards the bathroom. "Let's see what we can do about those cuts at least." But as they passed the small dining table, on which lay his camera, John stopped. "How would you feel," He said slowly and carefully. "About getting some photographs of this. Then, if you ever did decide to pursue it, you'd at least have some proof." George's immediate instinct was to refuse, but she could certainly see the logic of it. "It's not just my face, John," She said quietly, unable to meet his gaze. "I figured that much out," He said lightly. "John, I really don't want you to see what he's done to me," She protested, feeling all the strength of will flowing out of her. Reaching up a hand to very gently touch her cheek, he said, "It can't get much worse than this." "All right," She said resignedly, knowing he wouldn't give in until he wore her down. "But it doesn't mean I'm going to do anything with them." "Sure," He said, picking up the camera, and making sure there were plenty of exposures left, and knowing that whilst she might not agree to going to the police now, she might after some further persuasion. 

After taking a succession of pictures of her slightly cringing face, he led her into the bathroom, and gestured to her to remove her blouse. "Is, that, really, necessary?" She asked almost timidly. "Yes," He said quietly, and when she hesitated, he said, "It's nothing I haven't seen before." "Not looking like this, you haven't," She said, beginning to undo the buttons of her blood-spattered blouse with a trembling hand. Taking the blouse from her and dropping it on a nearby stool, John stared in abject horror at the bruises marring her beautifully smooth skin, not to mention the plethora of cuts on her arms. As he put out a hand, to tentatively touch a particularly vicious bruise that to him, looked to be the result of a kick, her hand closed over his. "Don't," She said in a tight, little voice that broke his heart. "Where did all the cuts come from?" He asked, trying desperately to keep his tone one of calm detachment. "A broken vase," She said simply, unwilling for the moment to give him any details. "Take your skirt off," He said, wondering just how much worse this could possibly become. She maintained a stony silence as she did so, loathing the fact that she was stood here in her underwear, waiting for him to take pictures of all her injuries. When he caught sight of the bruises on the tops of her thighs, a truly appalling suspicion entered his head. No, he couldn't, he couldn't have done something so despicable to her, could he? Glancing up at him, George could see that John had made the connection in his mind, if he hadn't out loud. As he clicked away, capturing every one of her cuts and bruises on the film, John began wondering just how he would go about getting the details from her. George was as skilled as he was at deflecting questions, and she wasn't going to take this necessary invasion of her privacy lightly. George kept her eyes stolidly shut during this process, refusing to look in the full-length mirror beside her. When John ran out of exposures, he said, "I'm going to have to go and ask Monty for another film. I haven't got any more." She looked even more frightened at the prospect of his leaving her, but he assured her that he would soon be back. "Don't move," He said, not wanting her to flee whilst he was away. 

Monty was surprised to see John at his front door, and asked him in with an air of friendly warmth. "I'm after a spare film for my camera," John said without preamble. "I hoped you might have one." "I should have one somewhere," Monty said, leading the way into the lounge. "I saw George's car outside. I do hope this isn't for any illicit purposes," He added with a slight smirk. But when John didn't rise to the suggestion, Monty took a closer look at him. "John, what's happened?" He asked in obvious concern, seeing the look of pain in John's face. "Where's Vera?" John asked, not wanting her to hear any of this whatsoever. "She's away for the week," Monty replied, beginning to look through the drawers of his desk. "Monty, what I'm about to tell you, it mustn't go any further, I mean it." "I'm listening," Monty invited, wondering what on earth he was about to hear. "George, came to me," John said regretfully. "Because Haughton has beaten her up, pretty extensively." Monty looked up in horror, the allusive camera film in his hand. "Oh, John, I'm sorry," He said with feeling. Then, more carefully, he asked, "what does she intend to do about it?" "Nothing, at the moment," John said bitterly. "I haven't even managed to get any of the details out of her yet. But I have persuaded her that obtaining some proof of her injuries, might come in useful in the future." Handing over the film, Monty tried to offer a word of caution. "John, don't use this as an excuse for exacting revenge," He warned quietly. "Because that won't do anyone any good, least of all George." "I haven't got that far yet, Monty," John said with a lopsided smile. "But believe me, when I do," He added vehemently. "The little weasel will wish he'd never been born." 

When he returned upstairs, George was perched on the edge of the bath, still trying to avoid her reflection. Mutely rising to her feet when he appeared, she stood in silence as he took the rest of the pictures. He then turned his attention to the cuts on her arms, of which one of them looked quite nasty. Retrieving some alcohol wipes from the bathroom cabinet, he began cleaning up the worst of the cuts, George barely seeming to notice. Looking closely at one particularly deep gash on her right forearm, he could see that there was still a fragment of china buried in her skin. "George, look at me," He said, trying to regain her attention. As her eyes gradually focused on him, he could see that she'd definitely been somewhere else. "There's a piece of glass still in your arm," He explained gently. "I'm not sure that I can get it out without making it worse." "There's some tweezers in my handbag," She told him. "They might do the trick." Retrieving the tweezers and briefly sterilising them, John proceeded to very carefully extract the fragment of china from George's arm, before covering it with a clean dressing. Knowing that there wasn't much more he could do, he stood back and surveyed her from head to toe, wondering just how it was possible for a man to do this to the woman he supposedly intended to marry. Sliding gradually away from him, George's eyes focused eventually on the mirror, taking in all the shattered glory of her once beautiful body. Christ, she knew it had been bad, but she'd never thought to see herself looking quite so beaten. As he put out a hand, to offer the comfort that he wasn't even certain she wanted, the colour drained from her face. "Oh, god," She said in horror, not wanting him to witness this, on top of everything else. As she lurched towards the toilet, he realised she was about to be violently sick, probably as a result of the shock of seeing precisely what Neil had done to her. As she lost her entire stomach contents, which was admittedly very little, her legs gave way and she sank to her knees. John knelt down beside her, gently putting his arms round her to keep her upright. When she knew that her stomach had nothing left to give, she rose unsteadily to her feet, John helping her up. "I'm sorry," She said, as she splashed her face and swilled her mouth out with cold water. Plucking his thick, warm dressing gown off the back of the door, John put it round her shoulders. George felt ridiculous wearing something that positively drowned her, but knew that it was far preferable to her bloodstained clothes. "John, why are you being so nice to me?" She asked, the tears now running down her cheeks, with her being wholly unable to stop them. "Because I think you need me to be," He said seriously, putting an arm round her and leading her back into the lounge. 

When he sat down with her on the sofa, he pulled her gently into his arms, trying to soothe the torrent of tears that finally came. He sensed that it had taken her an awful lot to come to him, to show him once and for all that he had actually been right about Neil from the start. John really didn't have any idea of what he could say, the shock being almost as great for him as it had been for her. "I'm, sorry," She said again, between gasps that were clearly painful for her to make. "I shouldn't have come here." "Sh, yes, you should," He told her softly. "I feel, so, humiliated," She said into his chest. "Nothing I ever did, or tried to do, was ever good enough." "How long has this been going on?" John finally asked, wanting an answer to this above everything else. "This is the first time it's been this bad," She said, avoiding the question as far as possible. "He thinks that as long as he clicks his fingers at the right minion, whatever he wants will automatically be done. He kept giving me all these blatantly corrupt cases, and insisting that failure just wasn't an option." "When did he first hit you?" John asked, the mere act of putting it into words making his blood boil. "During the Diana Hulsey case," She said quietly. "But that... That was over a year ago," John said in shock. "I know," She said through her tears. "But that was the first case that I was practically ordered to win. I think it shocked him as much as it did me, the first time he did it, and he always said he was sorry." "Why didn't you leave him, the very minute he first did this?" John asked, her suffering making his heartache with almost a physical pain. "You've got absolutely no idea, have you," She replied scathingly, moving a little away from him so that she could look into his face. "You really don't know what it's like, for someone to break your spirit so thoroughly, that you even end up doubting the point of your own existence. He felt terrible the first time he did this to me, and he actually managed to make me believe that he really hadn't meant to do it. My only concern was ensuring that he never did it again. Telling you that you'd been proved absolutely right about him, would have rubbed even more salt into the wound. That was my fault for believing him, John, mine, no one else's. Neil has more power than you will ever dream of, which means that simply walking away from the situation was never a possibility. I thought that if it was something that only happened very occasionally, I could deal with it. Only it doesn't just happen occasionally, does it, because the more they do it, the easier it becomes." Slowly putting his arms round her again, John gradually persuaded her to lean against him with her head on his shoulder, seeing that she was in serious danger of becoming completely hysterical, and wanting to calm her down. "You could have told me," He said quietly. "And what would you have said?" She demanded bitterly. "You'd have told me to leave him, to report him, to, in fact, do everything that it is not within my power to do. Even worse, you'd have probably tried to warn him off yourself, making the situation ten times more fragile than it already was." Then, a thought struck her. "John, you mustn't go after Neil for this, promise me." "Can you give me a remotely good reason why I shouldn't?" "Because it would get you into far more trouble than even Daddy could get you out of, because I am really not worth you completely sabotaging your entire career, and because I'm asking you not to," She finished quietly. He ran his fingers through her hair, mulling over what she'd said. Yes, his initial instinct was to track Haughton down, and to beat him to a pulp for doing this to George, and yes, he knew he would do the job admirably if given the chance. But here she was, beaten and bruised, and virtually begging him not to seek any vengeance on her behalf. "Before I agree to anything," He said carefully. "I'd like you to satisfy my curiosity on one point. Are you absolutely sure, that this is the worst he's ever done to you?" "I don't understand," She said, refusing to look at him, telling him by this gesture alone that she certainly did understand what he was asking. "Fine," He said, a little exasperatedly. "I'll put it another way. Has, erm, has he ever forced you to sleep with him?" The immediate stiffening of her entire body gave him his answer. "Don't go there, John," She said, the fear in her hooded eyes making him regret his enquiry. "It is a legitimate question," He said mildly. "No, no, it's not," She protested. "You don't need to be quite so afraid of telling me," He said, trying to cajole her into confiding in him. "John, will you please just drop it?" She said, her voice becoming slightly shrill with her desperate need to keep it together. "Sh, okay, okay," He said, trying to remove any threat she might feel from him. 

They sat silently for a while, George's tears eventually drying. Her cheek was resting against his shoulder, and she had her arms round him, almost as if he was the only thing to keep her from sliding beneath the waters of her despair. "You look exhausted," He said quietly. "Sleep has pretty much gone out of the window recently," She admitted, raising a hand to cover a yawn. "I think you should get some rest," He said tilting her face up to look into her tired eyes. "I can't stay here," She said in realisation, the reality of their situation only just becoming clear to her. "Heaven knows how much trouble that would get you into." "It's not as if I can get into any more, is it," He said with a smile. "John, I don't want to make things worse." "George, I am the last person you should be worrying about," He said sincerely. "So, go to bed, get some sleep, and if you feel like it later, we'll talk some more. All right?" "Thank you," She said a little hoarsely. "For being here." As she slid under his soft, thick duvet, still in his dressing gown, she shivered. "Are you cold?" He asked, thinking that it was probably the after effects of shock setting in. "Yes," she said, though feeling stupid for being so feeble. Fetching her another blanket, he carefully tucked it round her. Just before he left her to sleep, she caught at his hand. "John, promise me something," She pleaded with him. "Don't go looking for Neil. It won't do you any good." Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he took her two hands between his. "For now," He said, fixing his gaze on hers. "You are my highest priority. As for what happens tomorrow, or on any subsequent day, well, I'm only human." "I don't want you to do anything stupid, John," She persisted. "All I want you to worry about," He said, brushing a strand of hair back from her face. "Is feeling safer than you have done in months, and getting some rest." She was so touched by his unwarranted kindness to her, that it brought fresh tears to her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, feeling more pathetic than ever. "I shouldn't even be here." Delicately wiping a tear away from her swollen eye with the tip of his finger, John was forced to restrain his own emotions from taking over. His almost overriding instinct was to get into bed beside her, to hold her in his arms, and to kiss away all the tears and all the pain. But this wasn't possible, not at the moment, her spirit being far too sore for such an advance. "You go to sleep," He said, his own voice now a little hoarse. "I won't be far away, I promise." 

He stayed with her until her eyes eventually closed, wondering just how he was going to get her through the coming days. Even if she really did insist on doing nothing about all this, she would at some point soon have to gather the remnants of her shattered self-esteem, and return to the house where this had all taken place. Leaving the bedroom door ajar, he went and sat out on his balcony, hoping that the soft, evening air would calm his own scattered thoughts. Should he have seen this coming, he wondered? Had she given him some sort of sign that something really was amiss between her and Lover boy? The balcony looked out onto the car park in front of the block of flats, and as he sat there, he saw Monty's car drive into its accustomed space. When Monty emerged carrying a stack of papers, he glanced up and saw John sitting there. "John," He called up to him. "How're things?" "Come up, and I'll tell you," John invited. After dropping the papers off in his flat, Monty mounted the stairs, thinking that John could probably do with some company. As he waited for Monty to arrive, John poured two large glasses of Scotch, knowing that he certainly needed it. He opened the door before Monty could ring the doorbell, as he didn't want to wake George. Putting a finger to his lips, he beckoned Monty in, his gesture asking him to remain silent. Handing him one of the glasses, he led the way out onto the balcony, closing the door softly behind them. "George is asleep," He explained. "And she wouldn't want you to know what's happened." "How is she?" Monty asked, taking a seat. "Not good," John said, taking a swig of his drink. "I've got absolutely no idea how to help her through this, Monty," He said in complete despair. "Even now, even after I've seen everything he did to her, she won't really talk to me. It's as though she's ashamed of it." "That's often how domestic violence works, John," Monty said reasonably. "After years in this profession, you know that. Part of her will probably be convinced that she brought this on herself." "But that's ludicrous," John said vehemently, trying to keep his voice down. "Yes, I know that, and you know that, but it so often happens, that the easiest person for them to blame, is themselves. It isn't remotely logical, but that's what continual manipulation does to a person." "He's completely broken her spirit, Monty," John said quietly, his voice full of emotion. "If she'd had a shred of pride left in her, there's no way she would have come to me." "Is she still dead set on not reporting this?" "For the moment, yes, but I refuse to let this rest. He will not get away with this!" There was such a level of quietly simmering fury in John's tone, that Monty felt it his duty to offer a word of warning. "This isn't going to be easy, John, so just be careful. Go in all guns blazing, and you could make any possible prosecution a thing of fantasy." After a somewhat bitter and contemplative silence, John asked, "Should I have seen this coming?" "Don't be ridiculous," Monty said almost fondly. "You are not all seeing and all knowing, John, no matter how much you like to think so." "I just feel," John hesitated, not really sure how to explain the thoughts that were whizzing through his mind. "If I'd taken the time to see passed my utter contempt for Haughton and all he stands for, I might have seen just how bad things were. This is George, Monty, someone I used to know better than I know myself. How could I not have seen just how much she was hurting?" "Because she didn't want you to know, John," Monty said quietly. "And believe me, there is no one more skilled at keeping up a facade of indifference than a barrister." John lapsed into a worried silence, almost forgetting that Monty was there. Why hadn't she told him? Why, in all the months this had been happening to her, hadn't she just once confided in him? Seeing that his presence would serve no further purpose, Monty quietly left John to his thoughts, slipping out of the flat and clicking the front door shut behind him. John was vaguely aware of him leaving, and was incredibly appreciative of his sensitivity. 

He sat out there for a good couple of hours, occasionally returning inside to check on George and to replenish his drink. On his third trip to the bottle of scotch, he caught sight of the packet of cigarettes and the lighter that George's father had left behind when he was last here. Thinking that anything that might give him inspiration was worth a try, John picked them up from the sideboard and returned to his seat on the balcony. God, it must be over thirty years since he'd last had a cigarette, it not being something he'd ever done on a regular basis, unlike George, Jo, and far too many of the women he'd known throughout his life. The first hit burned its way down to his lungs, causing every muscle to tense in response. Jesus, how on earth could Joe stand to smoke twenty of these every single day? The initial rush of nicotine made him lightheaded for a moment, but as he took a second drag, he began to see why so many people took to it quite so readily. It brought brief tears to his eyes, to realise just how unhappy she'd been for the last year or more. No matter how bad the fights had been when they'd been married, he could never have raised his hand to her, not ever!

George was slightly confused when she drifted back into wakefulness. Why was she in John's bed of all places? But as she turned over, the protesting soreness of her ribs and face told her why. As the memories of everything that had happened today began crashing back down on her, she realised what had woken her. She could smell cigarette smoke, her father's cigarette smoke. Oh, god, she prayed that he wasn't here. John wouldn't have told him, would he? She should have made him promise. Getting stiffly out of bed, and wrapping John's dressing gown even more tightly round herself, she walked out into the lounge. Well, whoever was smoking, they were out on the balcony, the smell having drifted in through the open balcony door. But as she drew nearer, she saw through the glass that John was the only person out there. "What, on earth, do you think you're doing?" She asked in quiet amazement, standing in the balcony doorway. "What does it look like?" John replied, having heard her stealthy approach. "John, you haven't smoked in the entire time I've known you." "Yeah, well, it appears to be one of those days," He said philosophically, taking another drag. "Blame your father, he left them here a few days ago." Then, after flicking an ash over the side of the balcony, he asked, "How do you feel?" "Sore," Was her expected response. "And stupid and miserable." Taking one last drag of the cigarette, and flicking the still burning end over the rail into the car park, John clicked his fingers at a sniffing Mimi, and moved back inside, closing the door behind them. "Would you like a cup of tea?" He asked, moving towards the kitchen. Saying that she would, George sank down into a corner of the sofa. When he handed her the steaming mug, milk with no sugar, just as she'd always drunk it, she offered him a lopsided smile through the bruises. "I almost thought Daddy was here with that cigarette smoke," She said as he sat down beside her. "I thought about telling him," John admitted. "But I didn't know if you would want me too." "John, if Daddy saw me looking like this, it would kill him," George said with absolute certainty. "He cannot know about this." "If you choose to take it further, he will," John told her. "Which is just one of the reasons why I can't. You clearly feel bad enough that you couldn't prevent this from happening, though I wish you wouldn't, and I think Daddy would feel ten times worse." Wondering just how it would be possible to feel worse than he did at that moment, John took a sip of the scalding liquid. "The only thing I can do," She said tentatively, knowing that he wasn't going to like her suggestion. "Is to convince Neil that his most favourable option would simply be to cut his losses. He would want those photographs falling into the public domain even less than I would, so maybe the threat will be enough to get rid of him once and for all." "You can't, be serious," John said, sounding as appalled as he had on finding out that Neil had been made home secretary. "John, it's the only avenue I have left open to me." "No, it isn't," He insisted vehemently. "You must, report him for this, George, you really must, to stop him from doing this to someone else, if for no other reason. Neil Haughton has escaped the iron hand of the law for far too long. You cannot simply allow him to avoid its cosh, just because you are under the misguided impression that the law will not be permitted to run its course. Yes, I know that it's going to be hard, it's probably going to be the most difficult thing you've ever done in your life, but it has, to be done." There was silence between them for a while, both of them assimilating everything the other had said. George was forced to admit that in theory, he was right. She would never forgive herself if Neil walked away from her, only to put some other woman through what she'd experienced in the last few months. But that didn't mean she could do it. "If, and I stress, if, I were to take this forward, just who do you suggest I ask for representation, because we both know that every tactic in the book will be used to overthrow anyone who tries to go up against the home secretary." "You could ask Jo," John said carefully, ready for her wrath and disgust to break over his head. "Oh, you must be joking," George said in horror. "Why not?" John protested. "She'd put everything she has into something like this." "Absolutely not," George said firmly. "Not only has she taken away the one man I ever loved, but she also seems to have got her hands rather successfully on my daughter. I will not hand over every shred of my pride as well. You tell her over my dead body, John, I mean it." "And if you do a deal with Lover boy, it might end up being exactly that," John said bitterly, trying to hammer home to her the seriousness of the situation, as if she didn't know it already. After another silence, George said, "John, I can't think about this tonight. Let me sleep on it." He could see that this was her way of buying herself some time, until her strength was a little more replenished for the battle ahead. Asking if she could borrow a toothbrush, George slipped out of her underwear, and put on one of John's T-shirts, it coming to just above mid thigh, and showing off her cuts and bruises as in some macabre Victorian portrait. When John joined her in bed, after briefly taking Mimi out, it wasn't lost on either of them that it had been years since they'd been in such a position. They lay there quiet for a while, both wanting to reach out to the other, and neither quite knowing how. John, because he didn't want to overstep the mark of what she was comfortable with, and George, because she didn't want to put his ever dwindling resolve to the test. But it felt almost alien to her, to be lying so close to John, yet not to be enfolded in his strong arms. But it was eventually George who made the first move, gradually moving closer to him, until he put an arm out to go around her shoulders. In one sense, it felt odd to be lying with her arms around him and with her head on his shoulder, but in another, it felt just like coming home. They didn't need to exchange a word as they began to fall asleep, because neither knew of anything that could possibly ease the thoughts and feelings that were more than likely going round in the other's head. 

George was the first to wake the next morning, and she simply lay there for a while, allowing everything to settle into place. So, Neil had beaten the living daylights out of her, she had come running to John, and here she was lying in his arms, in his bed. She had turned over in the night, so that she was lying with her back to him, but still within the secure cocoon of his embrace. John's hand had moved during the night, so that it now lay familiarly over her left breast. She wasn't entirely comfortable with the feeling, but she was perfectly aware that it was a natural reaction to having her in his arms again. He had done this in his sleep, and would probably be mortified when he woke. When John also drifted into early morning consciousness, he was at first a little bemused to find that George was here in his bed. He could smell her old familiar fragrance, and feel her curves nestling against him. It was this slightly befuddled realisation that awoke him to the fact that his hand was gently cupping one of her breasts. They'd so often slept like this when they were married, that his hand must have taken on its old position purely out of habit. When he felt her hand, trying to prise his away from her breast, he knew that she was also awake. "Sorry," He said, swiftly removing his hand from her. "Force of habit." "Mmm, so I gathered," She said with a yawn. "How do you feel?" He asked, wanting to change the subject. "Stiff," She said, every muscle protesting at the slightest movement. It entered John's head to say that he felt like that, though for an entirely different reason. "I suspect you also have that problem, though for a far more pleasurable occurrence," She drawled with a slight smile. "Have you taken up mind reading?" He asked with a laugh. "No, but I do have a good memory." Turning over to face him, she could see instantly that her appearance shocked him. Her left eye was almost entirely closed, with her nose and lips looking extremely tender. "It looks sore," John said, knowing that he was stating the obvious. "Yes, just a bit," She agreed. "But I suppose it could be worse." "How?" He demanded hotly. "Yesterday, after he'd gone, I lay where he'd left me, and I really thought it would be easier just to drift away and never wake up." "George," John said, his voice full of only half suppressed emotion. "Don't ever think of that as being the only option you have, not ever. You have so much in you to offer anyone, that to throw it all away, just because of a spineless, worthless little cretin, would be nothing short of a terrible waste." "Sh," she said gently. "It's all right. It was just something I felt in a moment of sheer weakness, that's all." John wasn't remotely convinced, but seeing that he wasn't about to get any further reassurance out of her, he got out of bed and took a long, hot shower, mentally preparing himself for the day ahead. 

When John had emerged, he saw that George had fallen asleep again, probably the best thing in the circumstances. Once he'd put some clothes on, he made them both a cup of tea, taking it into her and waking her up. "I'm going to go and get you some clothes," He said, when she'd struggled into a sitting position. "And I need to get those pictures developed." "And then I suppose you'll be back on the pursuit of my reporting Neil," She said cynically. "Possibly," He admitted carefully, not wanting to reveal an inch of the plan he'd hatched in the shower. "You stay here till I get back. I'll take Mimi with me, so you don't need to worry about her." "John, it would be very unlikely for Neil to be there, but if he is at my house, I would far rather you left, straight away. I don't want to have to explain to Jo, why you are behind bars at the nearest police station." "Oh, don't worry, he's perfectly safe, for now." "Yes, it's the, for now, that I'm concerned about." "I promise, if I find him, I'll do my best to leave him in one piece. That's as far as I'll go." 

When John drew his car to a stop outside Jo's flat, he found himself praying that she would hear him out, before forming her own conclusions. Everything rested on how he explained this to her, he knew that. She looked surprised to see him when she opened the door, this being just after ten on a Saturday morning. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" She said, putting her arms round him and kissing him lingeringly. He didn't answer her at first, just taking a moment to hold her to him, and to breathe in the familiar smell of her hair. "I love you," He said eventually, as Mimi wove circles around their feet. "Is that what you came here to tell me?" She said with a smile, as they moved over to the sofa. "Not entirely," He admitted, sitting down beside her and taking her hands in hers. "I've got something to tell you, and I've got something to ask of you. All I'm asking is that you hear me out, before you try coming to any conclusions of your own." "This sounds particularly ominous," She said, wondering just what he'd got himself into this time. "George landed on my doorstep last night, because Haughton had beaten her up." "For failing the Cardinal case?" Jo supplied. "I think so, but it's not the first time he's hit her. I'm telling you, because I need you to know, that this is the only reason she stayed with me last night." Jo's eyes briefly flickered at this assertion, but he held her gaze firmly in his. "There wasn't anything else she could do, Jo, I need you to understand that." "Why?" Jo asked quietly. "Why is it always you who ends up picking up the pieces?" "Because that's what happens when you marry someone," John said with real feeling in his tone. "No matter how much they might push you away, just when they need you most, and no matter how much you might cheat on them as a result, you still always feel some sense of responsibility for each other. Even after all the fights, and after years of being apart, you never quite lose that. Every time George has been remotely aware of anything that might threaten either my career or my safety, she does anything she possibly can to warn me. That is why I have to help her now." "Tell me, John," Jo said with bitter resignation. "Why aren't you still with her?" "Because I love you," He said, looking deep into her eyes. "Perhaps if you married me, you'd know what I'm talking about." There was a long, sonorous silence, as Jo flinched from his words, and John realised that he might just have blown any chance he had of getting Jo to help him. "I'm sorry," He said eventually. "That was entirely uncalled for." "What do you want me to do?" She asked, taking his apology as read. "I need you to help me persuade her to report him." "You don't ask much, do you," She said philosophically. "John, if you can't persuade her to do that, what makes you think I can?" "Because you never avoid a challenge," He suggested. "And because I wouldn't be able to represent her." "The longer she leaves it, the less her injuries can be taken into account," Jo said matter-of-factly. "Which is why I took photos of every single one of them," John said quietly. "They're being developed as we speak." Jo got up and began pacing round her living room, and John could see the professional workings of her mind slowly grinding into action. "I'm not sure it should be me doing this," She said after a few moments' thought. "Whoever does take this forward, needs to remain pretty detached from it. George also might prefer a perfect stranger." "That's the point," John said exasperatedly. "I need you to get close and personal about this, because if we can persuade her to take it forward, it isn't going to be easy. Someone who doesn't know her as well as you do, might give up at the very first hurdle. Jo, only you have got the drive and determination to see this through. George didn't have to represent you at your judicial review over Michael, but for some reason, she did, and I am now pleading with you to return the favour." Jo couldn't help but smile at his blatant testing of all her emotional resolve. "John, I am aware that you are systematically pushing every button of guilt I possess," She said, sitting back down beside him. "And if, as I suspect, you are feeling a certain amount of guilt yourself, that is ridiculous." "I should have seen this coming, Jo," He said vehemently. "Somehow, I should have known he would do something like that." "You are hardly a clairvoyant, John," Jo said fondly. "And if George was determined to keep it from you, there was nothing you could have done." "Around the time the adoption panel refused you, George told me about Haughton's corrupt dealings with the One Way shares. When she and Lover boy came to see me about the trial the government wanted to happen without a jury, I let the cat out of the bag about what she'd told me, for no other reason than I wanted to see him squirm. I didn't pick up on it at the time, but she was terrified at the prospect of leaving with him. I just keep thinking, that if only I'd seen that, if only I'd let go of my anger long enough, to see what was really going on below the surface, she might not have ended up in the situation she did last night." "You can't think like that, John," Jo said softly. "It won't do you, or George, any good whatsoever." Putting her arms round him, she kissed him gently, wanting to take away some of his pain. "So, will you help me?" He asked eventually. "Could I really say no to you after all that?" She said, thinking that one day, he probably would get her to give in and finally marry him. "There's one other thing," He said carefully. "There's something about all this that she isn't telling me." "Knowing George," JO said ruefully. "I'd wager there's an awful lot she isn't telling you." "I'm not certain," John said tentatively. "But I think, at some point, he might have raped her." "You need to be, extremely, careful with something like that," Jo said firmly. "Because if she doesn't want to reveal that to anyone, then I can assure you, she won't. Anyway, what makes you think so?" "Just a feeling," He said, knowing just how little credibility his statement held. "A case of the lady doth protest too much." "Oh, don't tell me," Jo said disgustedly. "You just came out with it and asked her, didn't you. John, you cannot approach something as delicate as this with both feet, you know that, even if this is your ex-wife." "I know, I, know," He said regretfully. "I just wanted to get to the bottom of it." "And you need to accept, that discovering the entire truth, is something you will probably never be able to do," Jo told him seriously. "I will do what I can, but I'm making no promises. Every barrier she has will go up when she finds out that you've told me, so be prepared for this to take quite a while to achieve." 

They drove through the streets of Saturday morning shoppers, briefly stopping to pick up the developed photographs. "We need to go via her house, so I can get her some clothes," John said, putting the envelope of pictures on the dashboard. "She doesn't think Haughton will be there, but it probably wouldn't do me any harm to have a witness just in case." But when they drew up in George's driveway, they were both incredibly thankful to see that George's was the only car there. "You stay here," John said, handing her the pictures. "And you may as well get yourself acquainted with those." Whilst John let himself in through the front door with George's key, and presumably went to find her some clothes and other necessities, Jo opened the envelope of pictures, and began flipping through the only real evidence they had. The first frontal shot of George's face shocked Jo enormously. George's nose had obviously been bleeding, her lip was split, and a bruise was beginning to form under her left eye. By the look of it, George had been extremely lucky to escape without losing any of her perfectly straight teeth. There was a cut above her right eye, and the unmistakable sign of a handprint on her left cheek. But this was George, this was a woman who prided herself on always looking immaculate. From her designer suits to her spotless make up, George had always been the embodiment of visually impenetrable defences. Yet, now here she was, displayed in all her battered glory, appearing to be completely broken, in spirit if not quite in body. As Jo moved through the rest of the pictures, her righteous feminine anger only increased. The bruises on her ribs, the cuts on her arms, and the bruises on the tops of her thighs, Jo saw all of them. It should have been something of an eye opener for her, to see George clad only in the briefest of black, lacy underwear, but that fact barely registered with her. As she saw close ups of every inch of George's physical torment, Jo was forced to admire her resolve for submitting to the taking of the photographs. She wasn't sure that she, Jo, could have done so in such a situation. 

When John appeared, carrying a small holdall, which he deposited on the backseat, he said, "Can you pass me the camera, there's something I need to document, if we're going to do this properly." Picking up the camera from the glove shelf, Jo got out of the car. "Show me," She said, and John could hear the determination and slowly growing fury in her voice that signaled direct action. Leading the way into the house, John gestured to the open door of the lounge. Wondering just what she was about to see, Jo entered, stopping just inside the door. There seemed to be blood spatters everywhere in the vicinity of the sofa and coffee table, with a good deal on the expensive carpet. A vase of flowers had been knocked off the coffee table, with squashed carnations and broken fragments of china, scattered over the floor. Reaching out for the camera in John's hand, Jo said, "I'll do this. Go and wait in the car." At his slight hesitation, she added, "go on, you shouldn't have to see this." Taking her at her word, John left her to it. As Jo clicked away, she reflected that George must have been sat on the sofa when he'd begun hitting her, and that the vase had been caught in the cross-fire, as he'd pushed her to the floor, resulting in the many cuts on her arms and legs. It struck Jo as peculiar that she was finally seeing inside George's house after all these years, and in any other circumstance, she would have had great difficulty in subduing her curiosity. But this wasn't a house, this was the set of a very frightening nightmare. 

When Jo returned to the car, John quietly drove away. "There's something odd about the photographs," Jo said into the silence, her barrister's mind now working on overtime trying to assimilate all the evidence. "She's always got her eyes shut." "I think she was afraid of looking in the mirror," John said quietly. "And did she, after you'd taken them, I mean?" "Yes, though I'm not sure how much good it did her." "Why?" "She was violently sick, and then couldn't stop crying." "That's hardly a surprise," Jo said matter-of-factly. "And it probably did do her good, to get it out." "I don't know how to help her through this, Jo," John said, sounding so defeated, that she put a hand over his, where it rested on the gear stick. "All you can do," She said persuasively. "Is precisely what you're doing now. Before I saw those pictures, I think part of me didn't believe it was real, because I had absolutely no idea how bad it was." "That wasn't something I could put into words, Jo." "I know it wasn't, and you're right, he can't be allowed to get away with this." "I'm so relieved to hear you say that," He said with a slight smile, knowing that if he had Jo to help him sort this out, they just had to win. 

When they returned to his flat, John led the way upstairs with more than a fleeting feeling of trepidation. He was absolutely certain, that never in her wildest dreams, would George have ever even considered asking for Jo's help with this. Gesturing for JO to remain silent as they entered his flat, he called out to George. "In here," She replied from the bathroom, and when he stood in the doorway, he found her having just emerged from the bath, and wrapped in a towel. "Was he there?" She asked in greeting, as he put the holdall of her belongings down in front of her. "No, thank god," He said as he retreated, pulling the door too behind him. "Thank you, darling," She called after him, making Jo raise a slightly comical eyebrow at John's discomfort. When George had put on some clothes that at least gave her back half her usual armour, she went into the lounge. "John, do you..." And stopped, utterly stunned to see Jo sat at one end of the sofa. No! How could he! How could he of told Jo of all people! Seeing her aghast expression of anger and betrayal, John tried to put her at her ease. "You were about to ask me something," He prompted. Deciding to completely ignore Jo's presence until she knew best how to deal with it, George said, "I don't suppose you possess anything resembling a vaguely strong painkiller?" "Sure," He said, moving over to the desk and unlocking the top drawer. When he handed her the packet of extra strength Ibuprofen, her stare wavered between him and the open desk drawer. "You didn't trust me," she said quietly, sounding far more defeated than JO had ever heard her. "George, last night you were doubting the point of your own existence, and this morning, you were talking about contemplating giving up. So no, I didn't trust you." Taking the packet from him, George turned about and walked back into the bathroom. But as she made to whirl away from him, to prevent him from seeing how hurt she was, she couldn't quite suppress the gasp of pain, as her bruised flesh protested at the sudden movement. When she returned to the lounge, she sat down at the other end of the sofa, as far away from Jo as possible. 

"You could at least talk to each other," John prompted gently, handing them both a cup of tea. "Oh, so your purpose in bringing her here, wasn't simply to humiliate me?" George threw back, knowing that she couldn't go on ignoring Jo's existence indefinitely. "Don't be thick, of course it wasn't," John told her almost affectionately, seeing her sniping as the only defence she had left. Jo had been unable to take her eyes away from George, ever since she'd come into the room. Yes, she had seen all that had happened to George in the photographs, but it was nothing compared to seeing it in person. As if she could actually feel Jo's gaze on her, George now turned to look at her. "I bet it was something of a shock to see me looking like this, wasn't it," She said almost bitterly. "Yes," Jo said quietly. "Why are you here, Jo?" George asked. "Because if there's one person I really don't want to see me like this, it's you." "And I'll answer that," Jo replied conversationally. "By asking you why pride in your appearance, is quite so important to you, or shall I hazard a guess, by suggesting that it is the one thing you can usually hide behind." "You just love being right, don't you," George said acidly, incensed by the fact that all her usual throwaway barbs seemed to be making no impression on Jo whatsoever. "It does help very occasionally, yes," Jo said mildly, seeing that George needed to get her anger out of the way, before she even considered dropping any of her formidable barriers. "Why did he ask you here, Jo?" She asked, watching as Jo exchanged a glance with John, telling him to stay quiet. "He wants to see if I can persuade you, to have Neil prosecuted," Jo said carefully. George laughed mirthlessly, immediately regretting it and putting a hand to her protesting ribs, not something to go unnoticed by either John or Jo. "Does he now," She said a little scornfully. "And what makes him think you would have any success whatsoever?" Before she could stop herself, Jo's eyes strayed to the envelope of pictures on the coffee table. "Oh, John, you didn't," George said in horror. "Please tell me you didn't let her see them?" They could both hear the rising hysteria in her voice, telling them both just how much she didn't want this to be true. "I had to, George," He insisted, though wondering if after all, he really should have done. "Why, why did you?" George was desperately trying not to let the tears fall, but they could both see that it was nothing less than an uphill struggle. Walking over to her, John stood in front of her, and tilted her face up to meet his, holding her jaw gently between finger and thumb, just as Neil had done before he'd hit her. "George, listen to me," He said cajolingly, trying to make her look at him. "You must prosecute him for this, or he will do exactly the same to somebody else. Jo is the best person to help you do that, I promise you." George's eyes refused to keep still, flitting from one object to another, the fear steadily growing in their depths. She knew it was irrational, but having John standing over her like that, was putting the fear of god into her. She could feel herself gradually suffocating, John's words seeming further and further away. Without thinking, she pushed at his chest, trying to get him away from her. Immediately letting go of her, John moved away, abandoning what he'd been going to say. "Are you all right?" He asked in concern, only now seeing the sheer terror in her face. "Fine," She said, getting up from the sofa, and walking straight out onto the balcony. 

John stared after her, not having the faintest clue about what he'd done. "I think you ought to give us some space," Jo said very quietly. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" John asked, knowing that their rows could escalate into monumental proportions. "Yes," Jo said firmly. "We need to fight this out in peace." "I'd really rather you didn't fight at all." "Some hope," George's sardonic tones came from the balcony. "Well, just remember whose flat it is," He said, walking over to the balcony door. "Is there anything you want while I'm out?" "Please could you get me some slightly nicer cigarettes?" She asked, gesturing to where her father's still lay on the balcony wall. "I wish you wouldn't take that up again," John protested mildly, it almost being an expected response by now. "And that after your performance last night?" She said in disgust. "A little saying called pots and kettles, John." "Talking of cigarettes, do you want me to break the news to your father?" "Well, seeing as you've enlightened all and sundry about this mess, I suppose you'd better." 

When John had left, Jo retrieved a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from her handbag, kept there purely for dire emergencies, and walked out onto the balcony. George had her face turned away from her, but looked up in surprise at the flick of the lighter. "John doesn't know about these," She said, handing one over to George. "I caught him smoking last night," George said, taking a long and satisfied drag, her first in far too long. "Aha, that's always useful to know," Jo said with a conspiratorial smile on her face. "Yes, a little touch of blackmail always did come in handy where John was concerned." They lapsed into a thoughtful silence, both knowing that the moment had come when George was going to be forced to spill most of her secrets. "Why did my seeing the photographs, bother you so much?" Jo asked carefully. "Isn't that obvious?" George demanded scornfully. "Having you see this is quite bad enough," She said, gently touching her own cheek. "You can't hide behind pride for ever, George." "So I see," George replied sardonically. "How much choice did you have, about doing the Cardinal case?" JO asked, thinking that this was as good as any place to start. "How much do you think I had?" George quipped back, as yet unwilling to give JO an inch. "None whatsoever, though I might be wrong." "No, right as ever. I don't suppose you've ever been ordered to win a case, have you." "No, I can't say I have had that particularly dubious pleasure." "Jo, do you have any idea just how much I didn't want John to tell you about this?" "Why don't you tell me," Jo invited gently, thinking that she'd finally found the chink in George's brittle armour. Still keeping her face steadfastly turned away from Jo's, George tried to muster all the emotional strength she currently possessed, which she realised was precious little. "I don't like being proved wrong," She said eventually. "And whilst I realise that is something you know only too well, this time really was quite important to me. John has always despised Neil, both for his politics and for his money. If I'd told him that Neil also lacked anything resembling a moral code of practice, it would have solidified every prejudice John had against him. You know what John's like, thinks he knows what's best for everyone remotely important to him. He's been doing that to you ever since he met you." "When did Neil first do this to you?" Jo asked, wondering if George had softened up enough to give her a civil answer. "During the Diana Hulsey case," George said quietly, still refusing to look in Jo's direction, which Jo realised was possibly the only defence mechanism she had left. "When you dug up all that evidence against One Way, and their shares began to plummet, he really began to lose it. He... Jo, I really can't do this," She said almost desperately, her eyes now turned on Jo, their fear-laden depths positively begging Jo not to press her any further. "It's going to get a lot worse than this, George," Jo said matter-of-factly, though understanding her reluctance. "And perhaps that's why it should stop, right, now," George said firmly. "What are you afraid of?" Jo asked, though thinking she possibly knew the answer. "Jo, I cannot openly discuss this, without... without revealing to you, just how weak and pathetic I actually feel." Jo could see that this was a roundabout way of George saying that she didn't want Jo to see her cry. "George, look at me," Jo said gently but firmly, and when George's eyes were finally on hers, she continued. "I am well aware, that you remember the day Diana Hulsey died, just as well as I do. That was the one and only occasion you've seen me cry, wasn't it. I wouldn't dream of expecting you to get through this, without displaying such a reaction. It doesn't make you weak, and I'm not about to judge you for it." Jo could already see the tears shining in George's eyes, and she could feel George's unerring determination not to let them fall. "Why are you doing this?" George asked quietly, trying to put herself back on safer ground. "Why did you represent me at the judicial review over Michael?" Jo asked in return. "Because John asked me to do it," George replied instantly. "There you are then." As if this had answered a far deeper question, George rose to her feet and went back indoors, thinking that this wasn't a conversation that ought to be had in the open air. Picking up her cigarettes and the ashtray, Jo followed her, both of them taking their previous places on the sofa. 

"Why did John frighten you?" She asked as an opening gambit. "I wasn't expecting that," George admitted ruefully. "But the way he was standing over me, it reminded me of how Neil was last night." "I thought so," Jo replied, thinking that John would need to be very careful how he handled George. "I knew last night was going to be worse than it had ever been before." "Which explains the look on your face when we received the judgment," Jo put in. "Jo, what you need to understand about someone like Neil, is that they don't understand the word no. The word can't just doesn't appear in their vocabulary. Losing, especially with the Cardinal case, just wasn't an option. When he realised that I'd failed, to say that he was less than impressed is, as you can guess, something of an understatement. He... Erm... He had hold of my face, just as John did, though not as gently, whilst he was demanding an explanation for my failure." "Is that when he hit you?" Jo asked quietly. Recoiling from the word as if Jo had delivered the slap herself, George stood up, and began walking round John's living-room, unable to look in Jo's direction, for fear that she might see a hint of either scorn or pity in Jo's eyes. "Yes," She said eventually, coming to stand by the window with her back to Jo. When there seemed to be nothing more forthcoming, Jo prompted her. "When he was doing what he did to you, did he say anything?" "Oh, only thoroughly unforgettable things such as, how much Daddy would begin to lose interest in me, if I kept on losing, and how Neil would eventually be all I had left." Jo inwardly winced, knowing that such bitter manipulation would have cut George to the core. "Tell me what happened next," Jo invited, knowing that she would probably have to prise out every detail, and when George didn't seem able to answer, she added, "I have seen the inside of your house." "Then I doubt you need me to tell you what happened next," George said bitterly. "Funny, but I used to quite like that vase, until part of it ended up stuck in my arm." "What made him stop what he was doing and leave?" Jo asked, thinking that the details could wait until later. George's whole body went rigid at this question, because she could feel the lump in her throat gradually increasing. But she couldn't do it, she just would not allow herself to break down in front of Jo, it was unthinkable. Realising that George had to work up the courage for this one, Jo gave her as much time as she needed. "I think he realised that he'd finally broken me," George said eventually, wondering just how much longer she could keep up the willpower it was taking her not to give in. "Why?" Jo's quietly asked question was all it took to crack George's outer facade. Turning furiously to face her, George really let her have it. "Because he made me cry. Not in all the last few months has he ever achieved such a victory. Once he'd taken away all my pride, he realise there was nothing left, just an empty shell of nothingness. It wasn't enough to make me submit to his every whim, to make me defend some of the most loathsome individuals, all in the name of political expediency. His ultimate aim was to turn me into the cringing, pleading wreck, who couldn't even interest him in bed any more. What was it he said? Oh, yeah, 'You're not much to look at any more, are you, George, so it's not even as if I'd want to sleep with you.' Does wonders for one's pride, that does, and do you know something, I really wish he'd finished me off altogether. That was the only thing I wanted when he finally left last night, and yet I couldn't even get that right, could I." Suddenly running out of words, George realised that the hitherto suppressed tears, were now coursing unheeded down her cheeks, making her feel even more vulnerable than she had under Neil's fists. 

Getting up from the sofa, Jo gently took her hand, and led her back to sit down, not really knowing how she was supposed to comfort this her longest enemy. She compromised, by handing her the box of tissues from the sideboard, and giving her a modicum of privacy by making them both another cup of tea. When she regained her seat on the sofa, George looked somewhat recovered. "There is one other thing I need to know," Jo said very carefully, knowing that with this the last but most painful question, the barriers would likely go right back up. "John suggested, in his oh so tentative fashion, that this might not be the only thing, Neil should be prosecuted for." "Oh, did he," George said icily, though admiring Jo's tactical enquiry. "Well, as I'll assume this is on a need to know basis, that is something neither you nor John needs an answer to. Besides," She added, unconsciously giving JO her answer. "There isn't any proof, so what would be the point in telling you?" "Because I think it might do you good," Jo said gently, seeing straight through George's badly constructed reply. "Believe me, it wouldn't," George said exhaustedly. "Not now, not tomorrow, not ever. I know that you're niggling away at this with the best of intentions, Jo, but it really is best left alone." "Okay," Jo agreed, conceding the point for the moment, though never willing to give up entirely. "I hope John realises what a can of worms he's opening by telling Daddy about this," George said thoughtfully. "Though I'd far rather it were John breaking this particular piece of bad news than anyone else." 


End file.
